


Those Small Distractions

by Mouse9



Series: Tales from Baker Street [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 02:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20499209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mouse9/pseuds/Mouse9
Summary: It's rare that Mycroft Holmes does leg work.  But when he does, it's usually involving his younger brother and it's usually directed towards a certain Detective Inspector.But Greg Lestrade is not as clueless as some people make him out to be.





	Those Small Distractions

**Author's Note:**

> From my prompt list.  
"I can concentrate when you're dressed like this."
> 
> Please be gentle. This is my first posted Mystrade.

“Where is the Detective Inspector?”

Sally was half out of Greg’s chair, having found the form she wanted. They had a long-standing trust and as far as she knew, she was the only one allowed in the Bosses office when he wasn’t in there. 

Of course, that freedom came with a price. Usually in the form of one Holmes brother. This one was less of an annoyance but an annoyance nonetheless.

As if he could read her thoughts, an eyebrow shot up and his mouth thinned.

“The Detective Inspector?” he repeated.

“Out.” Her hand closed around the papers and she came around the desk. “Try downstairs. He’s been running on his lunch hour.” A smirk slid across her lips as she passed him. “Something about not being in shape. A load of bollocks if you ask me.”

“Indeed. And where might one find the stairs leading to the gym?”

She stopped just at the doorway of the office and pointed in the direction of the door leading to the lower levels. 

“That way.”

He left the office, brushing past her without a word and headed towards the door. Sally watched him leave, shaking her head.

“Ponces, the both of them.” She muttered before heading back to her desk.

* * *

Mycroft could hear the treadmill and background voices on telly before he reached the open doors of the gym. 

The gym mustn’t have been a popular place in the midafternoon for the entire room was empty save one person. Mycroft stepped into the room, mouth open to announce himself and begin the conversation but as he turned the small corner, he stopped, mouth still agape. 

Greg was running on a treadmill, eyes focused on the television, arms pumping in time with his legs. He was shirtless, clad only in compression running shorts, socks and runners. 

Try as he might, Mycroft’s world was knocked off its axis by the sight. Struggling both to right himself and to stop staring at the silver thatch of chest hair over a browned slightly soft stomach, Mycroft didn’t notice immediately when Greg noticed him. 

“Shit, did I miss an appointment?”

The telly was turned off and the treadmill began slowing. 

Mycroft’s mouth snapped shut with a click of teeth, his back straightened, umbrella brought before him as one would hold a shield. 

“No appointment.” He managed to get out, watching with what he hoped was disinterest as Greg quickly wiped down the machine and hopped off, the towel that was hung over the machine’s arm, now slung over his shoulders. “I was in the area.”

“Ah, well, lucky me, I guess.” He popped the top of his water bottle and took a long drink. Mycroft stood mesmerized by the long length of Greg’s neck as well as the movement of his throat as he swallowed.

This was preposterous. He was a grown adult in full control of his facilities. He could make or break policies before tea, he’d faced down foreign ministers without breaking a sweat. He dined with the Queen and was able to carry on a legitimate conversation. He’d had partners before, people he’d found attractive and none of them ever made him forget his training as standing here watching Greg Lestrade drink water.

“Sorry. Been taking my lunch hour to get in some exercise. Not as quick as I used to be. Anyway, you’re here about the Masterson case, right? Look I spoke with my bosses and unless you can get someone to provide the paperwork on your end, the Yard is not willing to hand over Amos and Wilfred, if those are even their real names. But-oh! Your brother came by yesterday too. Usual stuff, I think he does it to annoy Sally, I…”

Words faded from memory as Mycroft’s focus narrowed to specific dimensions. The sweat dampened curls covering a well-defined chest, the tanned skin of arms lightening at where the shirtsleeves would begin, the slight softness of the waist sliding down to firm hips clad only in compression shorts. And…dear Lord, those shorts were so very kind to Greg. Or to Mycroft, depending on how one looked at it. 

His eyes trailed down, no matter how many times he tried to focus on the words Greg was saying, his attention kept being pulled back to that silver furred chest. 

“I’m sorry.” Eyes closed tightly for a moment, before opening again.

Greg was frowning at him. “You okay?”

“No. I...” he shook his head, his gaze beginning to slide once more. “Could we possibly move this to your office?”

“Oh! Yeah, sorry. Didn’t think. Probably not used to having meetings in a gym. Give me about five minutes yeah?”

“It’s not that, rather,” Mycroft took a breath, decided just to get it out in the open. “I can’t keep this conversation going if you don’t put on a shirt. And possibly trousers.”

“Oh.” The frown deepened. “Yeah. Sorry. Look, give me ten minutes and I’ll be in my office. Although, you came down here. I’m not running in my work clothes, I don’t…”

Dear Lord, the poor man thought Mycroft was upset regarding a lack of professionalism. That couldn’t be further from the truth. If anyone was acting unprofessionally at this moment, it was Mycroft.

“It’s not that.” He hurried to explain before Greg stomped off. “I- “

Licking his lower lip, he decided to take the leap. “I can’t concentrate. When you’re dressed like this, or rather, your lack of dress. I’m…distracted.”

Greg, who was half turned away, beginning to make his way towards the locker room, stopped. He turned back around, head cocked, studying Mycroft.

“You’re. Distracted.” His tone was flat. Mycroft’s fingers tightened against the handle of his umbrella. 

“Yes.”

Another moment of studying and Greg’s lips curled into a smile. He spun back and took a step towards Mycroft, gaze focused.

“I’m distracting you?”

Self-control failed and Mycroft’s gaze drifted down towards Greg’s chest once more. 

“Quite.” His voice sounded far away. 

Greg took another step closer, hand raising up stopping just an inch above Mycroft’s hands folded over the umbrella handle.

“How could I possibly-oh. My eyes are up here Mycroft.”

Startled, Mycroft’s gaze lifted to meet Greg’s. The lines around Greg’s eyes crinkled as he smiled widely. Another step and he was in Mycroft’s personal space. The scent of sweat and musk swirled around them and Mycroft swallowed involuntarily, trying desperately to steady his rapidly beating pulse.

“Well, if I could make a suggestion,” Greg said. His voice had gone low and gravely, speaking words only they could hear. “You can go up to my office and in about ten minutes I can join you there. Then we can talk about this case. Or-”

He lowered his head and Mycroft’s eyes fell shut as hot breath blew lightly against his ear.

“You follow me into the locker room where it just the two of us and we can…discuss it there.”

Then the warmth was gone. Eyes opened and Greg was standing before him, arms crossed against that bare chest. 

“What’s the decision Boss?” 

For a moment Mycroft said nothing. Then, he smirked. 

“Please, lead the way, Inspector.” 


End file.
